Rip had trouble getting away from the soldiers.

It helped that he was Army, too, even if from another one on a different world. But enough of them knew his story to recall that he was a sergeant back home.

That helped, too, because he was not an officer. He was perceived by them as a common man, and there were far more commoners in the Army (and the Navy, for that matter) than officers.

So, after almost singlehandedly defeating the last robot, at least as far as the soldiers were concerned, they feted him as a hero. Major McDougal seemed kindly disposed toward him, as well.

Unfortunately, the press of soldiers all around him kicked in Rip’s anxiety around crowds, particular being the center of attention in a large group. He fought it down, but he felt the tips of ears grow red

Fortunately, McDougal seemed to sense his unease. Or perhaps the man just wanted to regain control of the troops.

He said, “Right then, that’s quite enough. Let the sergeant have some breathing room. He’s saved us quite a bother, and I’ve no doubt many of you lads would not be going home to hug your mums tonight if it were not for him. But give the man some space, would you?”

The soldiers backed off, but maintained a circle around him with all eyes focused on Rip, all faces smiling.

“Thank you, Major. I’m afraid I left my team back in the steam vault when I hitched a ride on that airship. If it’s all the same with you, I’d like to go and rejoin them.”

“Ah, good man. Yes, the Mendicant’s Entrance is not too far from here. Couple miles, maybe. Yonder direction”

“Ripley Coulter? I’m looking for Ripley Coulter. Is there a Mr. Coulter here?”

Everyone turned toward a young boy wearing a round hat with a short brim. He ran for the crowd waving an envelope.

“Telegram for Mr. Ripley Coulter. Is a Mr. Coulter here? I was told to look for him near the robots, and I see some broken ones out there. I assume those are robots. Are any of you blokes named Coulter?”

Several of the soldiers pointed at Rip and the boy’s eyes lit up. He jogged forward.

“Mr. Coulter? I have a telegram for you.”

He shoved the envelope in Rip’s face. Rip took it and noticed his name typed on the outside.

“Huh.”

He opened the envelope and pulled out a sheet of typewritten paper, neatly folded.

The boy coughed in his fist.

Rip looked at him blankly for a moment, then suddenly realized he was waiting for a tip.

“Uh . . . how much does one normally give for a telegram?”

“In the middle of the night? In a warzone? With robots rampaging the streets of Ethinium and knocking over military vehicles? Gee, I dunno, sir. I’ve never been in such a fraught and danger-filled situation as this one, no indeed.”

Rip chuckled.

“Alright, you do have a point.”

He pulled out a crown and briefly wondered how many shillings it represented.

Let’s see, there’s 20 shillings in a pound . . . stupid non-decimal currency . . .

Then he saw the look on the boy’s face, rather wide-eyed and eager at the sight of the crown.

Well, I think I can afford it. Something, something, ‘Be generous with your money,’ something.

He handed over the coin and the boy rubbed his knuckles on his forehead.

“Go’bewitya, sir!”

As the boy ran off, Rip read through the telegram. It was short and sweet, typed out with no additional markings.

“Rip we are out of vault, stop. Meet back home, stop. Hearing tomorrow, stop.”

He smiled. Who, he wondered, had insisted Blair include the fact there would be a hearing at RVS headquarters tomorrow? Was it Sharp or Bixby?

Then he looked up and noticed that to a man, everyone stared at him.

His ears turned several shades redder.

“Uh, my team made it out of the vault. So, uh, we’re calling it a night.”

Everyone laughed and any residual tension that may have been in the air evaporated.

“We should call it a night, too, Major,” one wag had the gall to say to the officer.

McDougal frowned at him.

“You will do no such thing. We’ve got quite a mess to clean up. All these robots, this overturned battle tank. Let’s get on it so the good people of Ethinium can wake up in the morning and go about their business none the wiser. Say goodbye to the sergeant, now.”

The men waved him off as he walked away, looking for a cab. Several offered to buy him a pint if they met again in a pub.

He walked four blocks before he finally found a Hansom cab clip-clopping down the street.

He raised his hand, and the cabbie stopped the horse.

“Where to, guvnor?”

“Four twenty-one Pickle Leigh.”

“That’s a might sight away. It’s beyond where me and Mary, me horse here, usually wander off to.”

“Name your fare and I’ll pay half up front, if you’re worried.”

The man rocked back in his seat.

“That’s a dangerous thing, asking a cabbie to name his fare. You don’t know what I might quote.”

“You look like an honorable man. Surely you wouldn’t cheat a member of the Royal Venture Society?”

“Oh, you’re one of those types, eh? I suppose I could bring you where you want to go. Mind you, I’d like a fair price for me trouble. It’s normally eight pence a mile. So . . .”

Rip handed over some coins without bothering to negotiate.

He climbed into the cab and collapsed on the seat, exhaustion finally catching up to him.